


Hired Hit

by buggy_writes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, POV Female Character, this sounds bad but i swear its a good story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buggy_writes/pseuds/buggy_writes
Summary: “I don’t want to kill you, Captain.” You hum, lips nearly touching his ear as you smooth the lapel of his suit jacket. He’s got a hand just above your hip and your other is folded neatly against yours, “I really don’t.”“Then why’d you take the job?” Gather intel. They need more information on you.“I didn’t, not really. Well- I did, but only so they wouldn’t hire someone else. You’re a good man, Captain. I’m not in the business of killing good men.” Blue eyes watch you carefully and you look at him. He can see honesty.“So why are you here?”“Mmm, can’t give it all away. Give Tony a message for me? Tell him to stop trying to find me. He won’t.” You squeeze his hand once, and when the crowd turns to the stage to applaud the band, you’re gone from his side.orWhen a hit is put out on Steve Rogers, you take it upon yourself to find out why. Things get messy, to say the least.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this took me a whopping 6 months to write and to date its the longest thing I've written. i posted it to tumblr originally and finally decided to post it on here as well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't want to kill you, Captain." You hum, lips nearly touching his ear as you smooth the lapel of his suit jacket. He's got a hand just above your hip and your other is folded neatly against yours, "I really don't."
> 
> "Then why'd you take the job?" Gather intel. They need more information on you.
> 
> "I didn't, not really. Well- I did, but only so they wouldn't hire someone else. You're a good man, Captain. I'm not in the business of killing good men." Blue eyes watch you carefully and you look at him. He can see honesty. 
> 
> "So why are you here?" 
> 
> "Mmm, can't give it all away. Give Tony a message for me? Tell him to stop trying to find me. He won't." You squeeze his hand once, and when the crowd turns to the stage to applaud the band, you're gone from his side.
> 
> _or_
> 
> When a hit is put out on Steve Rogers, you take it upon yourself to find out why. Things get messy, to say the least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took me a whopping 6 months to write and to date its the longest thing I've written. i posted it to tumblr originally and finally decided to post it here as well

You watch him carefully, eyes hidden behind a pair of shades as you sip lightly from your cup, hands wrapped in thick gloves to offset the cold air of New York. The mission was simple enough: locate your target, neutralize him. Remove him as a problem so that your client could carry on with their life.

When he goes to the other side of the counter, you move. Your coffee needs sugar, it seems. As you pull the lid off and pick up the sugar, he bumps your arm. Before he can apologize, you smile and tug your glasses down a bit.

"You're a surprisingly easy man to find, Captain." You mumble, knowing he can hear you. His jaw tenses and he makes a fist, "Ah, not here, don't make a scene." His hand goes limp and you nod, stirring the sugar into your steaming cup. Easier than you thought it would be. "Good boy. Mind going for a walk? It's not optional but I like to be civil." Snapping the lid back on, his name is called and you watch as he takes his drink.

Without a word, you walk out of the shop and down the street, smiling slightly when he falls in line with you. He's different in person, more rugged, easier to see the stress his job has put on him. Older now than when you saw him last. He'll never know that, though. Before today you didn't exist to him if you did your job right. 

"Why are you here?"

"Here? In New York? Or here, walking next to you?"

"Next to me." He asks sharply and you laugh. To any passerby, you're two friends, one teasing the other.

"Because, Captain, someone hired me."

"Hired you to do what?" He presses, a frown etched onto his face. 

Your chest heaves with a sigh and you stop, turning to him. "Someone wants you dead, Captain, and they've hired me to do the job."

He stops breathing, you think, and you leave him there, letting him process what you've just told him.

~

The first time Steve saw your face, it was on the flat screen in the main briefing room of the compound. Several pictures of you were scattered around; your name, age, and what little other information they had was spread out across the room. In some of them, you're staring right at the camera, but in others, you're working.

Not working. Killing.

You're an assassin, hired by elites with big money to take care of their problems. No one knows how you got into it, no one knows why you're so good at what you do. Tony has theories; the Red Room, HYDRA, some experiment gone wrong, but he doesn't actually know.

What they do know, is your first name- well, what you say it is, your approximate age, and your record. You popped up not too long ago on their radar, and have been steadily becoming a bigger problem since. When you were spotted in New York two weeks ago, Tony made a point to familiarize the team with your story in case anyone ran into you.

Until that morning in the coffee shop, no one had seen anything about you.

~

Three days after the coffee shop, though, you're in front of him again. An event this time, one thrown by Stark. How you got inside is beyond him, but he doesn't fully realize it's you until you've sidled up next to him. Your hair is a different color now- a wig, maybe- and you've done up your makeup. A dress that clings and a smile that kills. You ask him for a dance and he accepts, from the other side of the bar he can see Bucky raise his brows in confusion-- Steve, dancing with a dame?

But you're no dame. You're a trained killer, and he's on your list. Why you're playing cat and mouse, he doesn't know. So he asks.

"I don't want to kill you, Captain." You hum, lips nearly touching his ear as you smooth the lapel of his suit jacket. He's got a hand just above your hip and your other is folded neatly against yours, "I really don't."

"Then why'd you take the job?" Gather intel. They need more information on you.

"I didn't, not really. Well- I did, but only so they wouldn't hire someone else. You're a good man, Captain. I'm not in the business of killing good men." Blue eyes watch you carefully and you look at him. He can see honesty.

"So why are you here?"

"Mmm, can't give it all away. Give Tony a message for me? Tell him to stop trying to find me. He won't." You squeeze his hand once, and when the crowd turns to the stage to applaud the band, you're gone from his side.

He very vaguely thinks he sees you duck out, but then Bucky is coming up and he has questions.

~

You know, logically, that going to the party was bold and dumb. It could've gotten you killed. Arrested. Made. But a week later, Tony Stark has stopped trying to find you. So you do him a favor.

You walk through the front door of his building.

Again, you don't know what possesses you, but you're wearing jeans and a hoodie and you're not there to cause trouble. You've got a file on your hip and don't bother stopping at the front desk, instead you walk straight to the elevator and hit the button for the floor you know Tony's office is on.

The elevator is fast, but your mind is faster. In the moments it takes, your mind drifts to the startled look on His face when he turned and saw you. The weight of His hand on your hip, tugging you closer without realizing, leading you in a dance you knew from years of training. Not a waltz, nothing like it-- You had chosen to let him lead that night, gave him answers to his questions. More than you gave for any other target. He was more than a target, though.

When the metal doors slide open, you're met with the two men you need to speak with.

"Oh, good, this saves me the trouble. I have something for you." You tap the edge of the file against the Captain's chest and he blinks, confused.

You're not supposed to be there. You're not supposed to be anywhere.

"Um, Steve, would you like to explain?" Tony asks.

"I- I don't know? I wasn't-"

"Someone hired me to kill the Captain. I'm here to tell you why they want him dead."

"You couldn't just tell us who it is?" Tony crossed his arms, giving you a pointed look.

"No, Stark, because I wasn't hired in person. You, my friend, have never been hired to commit a felony. Or have you? I know that whole Accords situation was-"

"Not the point," Rogers interjects, setting his hands on his hips. The classic Captain America pose, it's nice to know that's not just a gimmick for the press. More impressive in person, too, with his slim waist and wide shoulders. If he weren't your mission, he'd be beautiful. 

"Right, okay. Is there an office where we can talk in private?"

Tony leads you both to his office, and along the way, you see familiar faces. It's... unsettling... to be in a room with so many public people. Your entire career focuses on your ability to go unrecognized, to be just another face in the crowd. What happens to you if someone remembers your face? Your eyes, your smile? You become compromised. No longer able to move in the shadows. Bosses get angry. Clients stop hiring.

Keep your face down, you've got one job here today.

With a deep breath, you turn the corner and enter with the Captain and Stark. Inside his office, Rhodey and Seargent Barnes are already waiting for you.

"I said Private." You state, eyes scanning for weapons. Escape routes, should things go south. Is anyone armed? Barnes most likely is. You won't make that mistake again. A face in the crowd, would he remember you if you spoke your shared mother tongue? Of course he could, how could he forget the woman who almost got him killed?

"This is as private as it'll get for you. You're a known killer-" Rogers starts.

"So was he." You glance at Barnes, who bristles at the comment. His eyes aren't vacant... perhaps there really was a man behind the machine. Too bad you never got to know him.

"He... He's different." His voice is softer now, and for a moment you see the man you would call Steve instead of Captain. He's gone in a flash.

After a long pause, you nod once and go to the table, setting the file down. "The information I was given is in there. I was contacted through a private security company, a shell, but it leads back to a corporation in the Maldives. From there, I lost it. My people... aren't as good as yours."

"Who are your people?" Rhodey demands, stepping closer. He's supported by tech, no doubt paralyzed. If need be, he's a weak link.

"That's not your business. I'm not looking to make friends here-"

"What are you doing here, then, călău?" Executioner.

The word throws you off, and when you look up, you're met with the cold eyes of the Winter Soldier. Not the Seargent. Two beings in one man, how difficult that must be.

He remembers you, no doubt about it.

"I... I am not in the business of killing good men. The Captain is a golden boy. I can't kill him. Won't."

"Why? He's not an innocent man. He's killed people," The Soldier throws at you, and if you could, you'd run.

"I'm aware." You keep his gaze until Rogers puts a hand on his shoulder, telling him with one gesture that it isn't worth it. You aren't worth the fight.

"Listen, I know my reputation. I know you could lock me up and throw me in prison, you'd have every right to. Someone is coming for you, and they won't stop with me. When they realize you aren't dead, they'll send more, and they will not stop until they get what they want. You may have made mistakes, but you do not deserve to die because of them. If... if I can help, I will." Your voice fades out as you speak, looking at the four men in front of you.

Was this really something you wanted to be a part of? Did you really want to jeopardize your life to prevent one man from dying? But he wasn't just a man, was he? No, he was Captain America, the man who fought aliens in New York, who went against the government of not only his but 117 other countries, because he knew his best friend was not a bad guy. He was a golden boy. A moral compass for people, someone they loved and respected. His death would bring tragedy, people would hunt you to the ends of the earth. Only to find you already gone, haunted by your ghosts and demons for too long.

After a long pause and several looks between the men, Tony looks at you. "Did you have a plan?"

"Yes." You nod once, looking at the Captain, "But it's not going to be fun."

So you sit and plan. It takes a lot of debate before they give in and let you run things, but they do, and the entire time, the Winter Soldier is glaring at you. He remembers you, he hates you, and after this is over, he might kill you. You wouldn't blame him.

Your theory starts to prove itself when you go to leave, and the Soldier catches your arm. He turns you to him and, with little grace, pushes you into the closest room. He closes and locks the door behind you, and for a moment you fear that you won't make it out alive.

"If I get the feeling that you're up to no good, I'll kill you." He spits out. It takes a moment to realize he's speaking Russian.

"Soldat, I knew you were still in there somewhere... Is it nice to have a family?" You ask softly, hearing the mechanics of his arm whir softly as he clenches his fist. "You know how mine was, you were the closest-"

"Do not. You do not get to speak to me like that. Not after what you did to me." He's all but hissing now, and if you could go back in time and change what you did, you might consider going down a different path.

But you can't.

"I'm... I know what I did was wrong, I see that now. I was younger and foolish. I had no intention of hurting you, or being the reason you were hurt. I can't change things, James, but I can put in an effort now to be better." Your voice is barely above a whisper and for the first time, you hold his gaze. Eyes still the same steel blue, still looking right through you, hair shorter and sprinkled with a couple of grey hairs, stubble making him look the part of an on-the-run ex-assassin. He looks good. Much better than the first time you had seen him, laid out on that table, armless and half dead. Your doing. There was no coming back from that.

"If you hurt him, I will kill you."

"If I hurt him, I'll let you." You state. His hand drops from your arm and he steps back, giving you the chance you need to escape. Rushing out of the room, you forego the elevator to run down the stairs and out of the front doors until your lungs hurt and you're halfway to the hotel you've been living in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im adding this bc i saw someone asked for it (which surprised me v much omg) so you can find me and my other works on tumblr! @buggy-blogs


	2. Chapter 2

One thing you had learned very early on in life, is that nothing is Fun. The plan had gone off without any issues, thankfully. An attack at a grocery store, a knife in the Captain's side, a mystery assailant gone in the dark, Steve Rogers being kept at the Avengers' Compound for the best medical treatment available, three witnesses who spoke to several media outlets. No one knew who the woman was that decided to attack, or where she had gone.

Now, you had to sit and wait. Two metal bracelets locked around your wrists, you had free reign of the compound, but one step out any door or window and zip, an electrical current strong enough to take down a super-soldier. People avoided you like the plague, which you were used to, but if you had to pick a reaction, it would be bitter. You came to them of your own volition and willingly handed them everything they needed. 

Your room was nice, as far as prisons go, but the walls were a God awful shade of purple. Despite this, you had your own space, a door that shut but didn't lock. Windows bolted shut. Sure, you could get out if you really wanted to, but that would be counterproductive. Granted, you weren't there to make friends, but you didn't want enemies either. 

Enemies. Is that what you would call the Winter Soldier? Or should you call him a bitter ex-coworker? A brother lost, perhaps? For so long, he was one of the few who truly knew you, and when you turned on your captors, you turned on him. He hunted you for so long, tracked you all over the world, used every trick you taught him and more.

A knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts and you sighed softly, standing and opening it. 

A worker bee stood in front of you, obviously intimidated. He should be, he would be easy to kill. "Stark wants to talk to you."

"Alright, are you going to lead me there with a zappy stick or can I go by myself?" You tilt your head slightly, eyes flicking to the weapon he carried on his hip.

"I have strict orders to lead you there, ma'am."

Fleetingly, you consider telling him not to call you "ma'am", that it makes you sound old, but then you remember that you were born in 1919, and let it slide. With a huff, you grab your shawl from your bed, wrapping it around your shoulders and following the man.

You walk in silence to the elevator, and on said elevator, the man stays as far away as possible. Once he leads you to a door, down a hall, and through another door, you're left alone in a room with a chair and a table. Minutes go by and you sit, resting your head. Briefly, you think you hear footsteps outside, but they fade fast. The lights are bright and there are no windows, the mirror on the wall in front of you is without a doubt a two-way mirror. This room was designed to fuck with your mind. No natural sun, the cracking of the fluorescent bulbs, nothing to look at besides the grooves in the walls. It was a room for a prisoner.

The footsteps are back and the door is opening, but you don't bother to lift your head. From the patterns of the footfalls, you know who it is, and you truly don't care enough to look at him. He drops a thin file on the table and you lift your head slightly to look at it.

"That's all we have on you." Lieutenant Rhodes states, leaning against the table. 

You nod and open it, looking at the sheets of information, most of it is covered in thick black lines, but what is there is somewhat correct. You look at a few of the photos and hum softly, "You got all my good angles, that's sweet." 

"We want more." 

"Jeez, you're really... Bland. Can't even ask nicely?" You set the photos down and look up at him for the first time. He's a weak link. Sure, people are watching you through the mirror, but you could always make a point. 

"Tell us where you come from. Who created you?" 

It's natural, you suppose, and you should have expected it. They want to know who they're working with, whose hands they're putting the Captain's life into, if she can be trusted or not, yadda yadda. But the question is, do you tell them? Letting Tony Stark have a profile on you would make it difficult to operate in the U.S., but then again, that's only one country in a world full of bitter people with too much money. You could make it work.

Though you had been debating the idea for years, you never thought it would actually happen. You always assumed you'd die in a fight, never getting the chance to retire, but here you were with an opportunity in front of you.

"If... I give you this information... what do you plan on doing with it?" Closing the file, you place your hand on top of it.

"That's classified."

You have to laugh. "It's my story! My life!"

He frowns at you, unimpressed.

"Fine, okay, you want to know?" You lean back in your chair, sighing softly. "It all started when my mom met my dad. He fell in love with her, she hated him. Push came to shove, he had her abducted. Three years later, she still hated him but I was born. When I was four, my mother killed herself."

"What year were you born?"

"My birth date is the 14th of February, 1919. Poetic, no?" You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes. "My father more or less raised me up until I was twelve. Then, training began. I was no longer his daughter, I was his weapon. To be honest, though, I think the first twelve years he was breaking me down, getting in my head, which sucks for a kid. He was, for all intents and purposes, a shit father."

"Who was your dad?"

"So many questions, can't you just let me tell my story?"

There's a sharp knock on the door and Rhodes is quick to step outside, leaving you to count the cracks in the ceiling tiles. You're at 16 when he steps back inside, looking nervous.

"Something wrong?"

"You have a package."

He leads you to Tony's office, explaining that sometime in the morning, a package was dropped off with your name and no return address on it. This was bad, no one was supposed to know where you were, or that you were even in New York.

The box, flat and rectangular, sat perfectly on Tony's desk. Tony himself is standing behind his desk, as far away as he can be while still owning the area. Rogers, Rhodes, and Barnes are stood on the other side of the room, looking rather apprehensive.

"I'm... Should I open it? Can I do that?"

"Well, I do believe it's technically illegal for us to open mail not addressed to us, so..." Tony waves his hand toward the box.

"Like that's ever stopped you before..." Rhodes grumbles softly. 

Looking around, you make a grabby hand at Captain Rogers' shield, "Can I? If this fucker blows up, I'd like to keep my face." He gives it to you and you move to the box, picking the corner of the box up and witing to hear beeping. When nothing happens, you drop the shield and use two hands to peel the lid off.

Well, fuck.

Folded neatly in the box is a gold dress with lace, and tucked into the deep v-neck are two tickets to a gala. Under the tickets is a note written in a familiar curved style, you pluck it from the box and read the Russian symbols carefully,

_Hello, My Sister,_

_It has come to my attention that you did not do your job. I can only assume this means you have turned on me. I would like to meet face to face to discuss why you have decided to defend a killer._

_Bring him along, I'd love to meet him as well._

_Best Wishes,_

_Your Beloved Brother_

With a sharp exhale you drop the letter and turn away, walking out of the room. Out of all the people on the fucking planet, it had to be the one living human you were related to?

~

Hours later, there's a soft rap on your door and you barely have time to sit up before it's being pushed open. The Soldier is standing there, the box from earlier in his metal hand.

"You... left this."

"And you decided to bring it?"

"Steve made me."

You watched in silence as he came in and set the box on your dresser, eyes locked on his metal hand. You had helped hold him down when they put the first one on. His screams still haunted you. He looked around, never having been in your room before, and frowned. There was nothing there.

"It's a prison, I'm not... I'm not going to be here forever. No sense getting comfortable."

"You hate purple, why..." He's referring to the color of the walls, a soft lavender that you truly can't stand but you'd had no choice in the matter.

"Soldat, why are you here?" It's blunt and doesn't match the tone of your pathetic conversation, but it does prompt him to pull the folded letter from his pocket.

He knows. 

"Figured you might wanna talk about this."

It made you mad. Furious. It's been decades of running from the Winter Soldier, from the man you abandoned, and now he wants to act like he's your friend?

"I have nothing to say-"

"You and I both know that's bullshit. There's a reason you didn't tell Rhodey about him. Are you scared?"

You can't look at him. He knows too much, this was a mistake, you should've denied the job, let someone else take it and perish when they couldn't succeed in killing Steve Rogers. Bile rises in your throat and you move suddenly, surprising the man standing across from you. 

"I'm- Fuck you. I'm not scared. I don't get scared."

He's right on your tail, flesh hand gripping your arm tight. You so badly want to fight him but you know that right now, he'd win. Giving in, you meet his gaze. He studies you for a moment and softens, 

"You're terrified."


	3. Chapter 3

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you sigh softly. The dress, for what it's worth, is beautiful. It ties at the back of your neck but other than that is backless, gold fabric parts into a deep V while rose gold ribbon holds the dress together just under your bust, letting the rest of the gown fall down to the floor. There's a lace layer on top, small beads sewn in to give it a glowing look, and the slit that stops at your thigh means you'll walk freely. Rose gold shoes to match the ribbon, you're meant to stand out. It's a black-tie event, one Pepper has apparently been working on for months.

A charity to help kids all over the world who have been affected by the villains the Avengers' face. Families have been flown in from all over the world and are being honored tonight, all while you have to try to find and eliminate the threat on Captain America's life.

The Captain. He's been instructed to be your date tonight. Your... brother... demanded it, and Tony didn't think it was worth rocking the boat over it. You wanted to go alone, face your brother by yourself and keep the Captain safe. He, of course, is too noble a man to ever let that happen.

There's a soft rap on the door and you turn, telling whoever it is to come in, and are a bit stunned when you see Steve. He looks... amazing. His suit is perfect, made just for him, and while you look over him, he looks over you.

"You... You look beautiful." He says softly as if he's confused.

"Did you think I wore sweats and tac gear all the time?" You smile slightly, grabbing your clutch, "You look nice, too. Much better like this than on the frozen aisle floor." You follow him out of your room and into the already called elevator, leaning against the rail.

His face morphs, just for a second, into a frown at the memory, and then he's smiling again. A facade. Nice to know.

Play it safe and move on or reach out and make a connection?

Take a breath, don't get too attached. He's your mission, not your friend. "I... I'm sorry. For that. If there had been another way... Or maybe there was, and I just didn't see it. Either way, you..." Do not get attached, "You don't deserve this."

"You're right. I deserve a lot worse." That's awfully familiar.

He leaves you with nothing but a bitter taste in your mouth, a painful déjà vu that builds in the back of your throat and slides down into the pit of your stomach. You and Steve Rogers might have a lot more in common than you thought.

~

The ballroom is buzzing. Guests milling about, waiters buzzing and serving hors d'oeuvres, kids hiding behind their mothers' skirts. Your favorite thing, though, is the bartenders mixing drinks behind the bars. You're sipping a drink now, leaning back against the bar and watching crowd carefully, scanning for the face you know all too well.

"How will we know who this guy is?" Steve asks softly, speaking over the rim of his whiskey. It's simply an act to keep up appearances, he could have the whole bottle and at most, it would make him a bit warmer than usual. Which was saying something, because if you learned one thing in that little sports car with him on your way over, it was that Steve Rogers ran hot.

"Barnes... He didn't tell you?" That doesn't make sense, wouldn't the Soldier tell them everything he knew- the folder, it was so small, they barely got your birth name right... In your room the night before, the way he spoke to you, it didn't make sense compared to the first day when he threatened to kill you. Did the Winter Soldier still care about you? Or was this James Barnes? It was difficult to tell, sometimes.

"Tell me what?"

Well, fuck. Looking around, you slide half a foot closer to him and set your drink down, "Dance with me."

It's not a request. You take his hand and lead him to the small dance floor, putting your free hand on his shoulder and letting him lead. You've been in this position before, but was it as charged then as it is now? He ducks his head slightly as you lean up, speaking lowly in his ear.

"The man who wants you dead, I know him. I've known him my whole life. Do not react, keep dancing-- he likely plans on you lashing out. Let me lead this, okay? Do you trust me?" Meeting his gaze, you find him already looking at you.

Fuck, why do supersoldiers always have to run so warm?

"I trust you." 

_You shouldn't._

He pulls you closer, hand secure on your hip and for just a moment you wonder what life could've been like if you weren't who you are; if you'd been a girl in her time, out with friends and bumped into Steve. Would you have ended up in his arms like this or would fate be cruel and keep you apart? Oh, if only you knew him then. Could you have fallen in love with Steve Rogers if your father hadn't broken your spirit so young- though at times you wonder if your blood would have ever let you live a normal life.

Your very existence is your father spitting in the face of God, taking a woman he claimed to love and forcing her into a life she never wanted. Taking a child and turning her into a weapon, pitting her against her brother. All your life, the people who were supposed to love and protect you have only broken you- possibly beyond repair.

"This man, he's- He's coming after you because you killed his father. He has a perverted sense of justice, this- this need to continue his father's legacy and Steve-" you take a short breath, letting Steve twirl you before falling easily into his chest, "He will not stop until one of you is dead."

The look of confusion is clear, eyebrows pinched and jaw set. He wants to know how you know this when a month ago you had no idea who hired you.

"I know- I know what you're thinking, okay, but-" 

"How do you know him?" He asks simply, hand almost painful, even for you, where it's gripping your waist.

"He's my brother. Dietrich Schmidt." You can see the gears turning in his head, connecting all the dots. 

_Schmidt. He knows that name, but could you really be- Could he be working with the daughter of the Red Skull?_

Before he has a chance to ask anything else, you hear someone approaching, "Miss?" There's a tap on your shoulder and you turn, seeing a young waitress looking shy. "A gentleman asked me to give you this." She hands you a note, blushing and looking over Steve once before tucking tail and scuttling away.

Carefully, you run your hand down Steve's arm and nod a little, stepping back and unfolding it. There, in that familiar scrawl, is a simple instruction:

_Roof, now, please._

Tapping your earpiece, you mumble to ask if anyone has eyes on the roof. Barnes and someone named Sam who you're yet to meet in person, but know about from doing research for your mission, are keeping tabs on outdoor activity around the building. Tony, when he can, is running diagnostics on the entire building.

"Got eyes on a dude up here." Sam's voice comes through loud and clear, making your eyes snap to Steve.

"He sent me a note. Wants me to meet him. Do you see weapons?"

"No obvious ones, he's dressed for the event, though, so he could have something under his jacket. Want me to get a closer look?"

"No. He's dangerous." You take a breath- God, you have to do that a lot nowadays- and look at Steve yet again. He shakes his head and you ignore him, turning away and starting for the roof.

He grabs your wrist and pulls you back to him, frowning. He opens his mouth to speak but pauses, then sighs, "Be careful. I don't want you hurt." It almost sounds like he- No. He can't. There is no reality where Steve Rogers cares about you in any way.

"I will be. Sam is watching, he'll know if I need help. I'm a big girl, though." You cup his cheek and thumb at the soft skin below his eye, giving a careful smile. Maybe, when all of this is done, you'll have made a couple of friends.

He nods once and with that, you leave him on the dance floor. You make your way out of the ballroom, passing Tony on the way and giving him a slight nod, then find an elevator and go up.

It's cold outside, but a Gala in January will do that, especially in New York. It no longer phases you, all the winters of your childhood spent outdoors training with your Father and Brother. You'd be forced to stay out for hours, no coat to protect you, your fingers turning blue and limbs going numb. You were never lucky enough to die. The memories make you wring your hands together, a habit you've had since you were a child, and you sigh softly as you step up onto the roof.

You can just make out a figure across the way, broad-shouldered and lean, just like your Father had been before he turned into a monster. Dietrich turns to you, smiling, and for a moment you can see the same glint, passed down from father to son. A disgusting family trait, you suppose.

"Sister, it's been too long. I've missed you." He brings a lit cigarette to his lips and takes a puff, flicking the ash off carefully. "I know you've turned on me, dear, but can we at least have a private conversation? Go on, take the earpiece out." He motions to you with his cigarette hand, the other being stuffed in his pocket.

With a grimace, you slide the piece out and crush it with the ball of your foot. No use trying to trick him, he was always too smart for his own good. "What do you want?"

"I want two very simple things, dear. First, I want that man dead. Second, I want you back at my side. We can continue on with Father's work-"

"No."

"No? My dear, perhaps you don't understand- I'm not asking. You have your toy soldiers, sure, but I have mine, too. It's really unimpressive how easy it was to find the bird boy. He practically lead us to him with his little spy toy."

_Sam._

"Anyways, if you think you have a choice in the matter then you are surely mistaken-"

"Did you ever stop to consider what I was being put through?" You snap, stepping closer. Not too close, he's on a ledge and he's not above taking you down with him. There's a baffled look on his face and you press on, "As a child, do you know what they did to me while you were studying? They locked me in rooms for days, no food or water, no light, making me repeat their mantra. They beat me when I stop or if I fell asleep. I was a child, Dietrich. And then as soon as Father found that God-forsaken formula, after he mutilated himself, then after Erskine ran, he found more scientists. He created a new formula and put it in me. He used his own daughter as a lab rat. I was twenty-four when he injected me with that bullshit. It almost killed me." God, you wish it had.

He's looking at you like you've grown another head. Is the concept of you having emotions really so difficult for him to grasp? You were his baby sister. He should have been protecting you and cherishing you, not being taught all the ways to activate the monster inside of you.

"You..." He begins, moving closer. The cigarette is wasted now and he drops it, slipping his hand in his pocket and pulling something out. "You, my sister, are nothing more than a tool. You were created with a purpose, do you not see that?"

"I refuse that purpose."

He sighs heavily, nodding, "I was afraid you'd say that."

Everything seems to happen at once, then. He raises his hand and pulls the trigger of some sort of gun and at the same time, the door to the roof comes off of its hinges. Through the doorway walks Steve, but he's too late to prevent a small dart from landing in your chest. You look down at the small vial of liquid, watching it drain into your body and then-

_Everything burns._

You're burning from the inside out, your veins are screaming and you collapse, legs giving out completely. Vaguely, you think you see Steve throw himself at your brother, but then the world is black.

_Everything still burns. Is this was death is?_


	4. Chapter 4

_Everything burns. The world goes black and the last thing you hear is Steve screaming._

Then, you're awake. Consciousness crashes into you- it's the shock of the crisp cold air when your covers are ripped off, the sting of falling into an ice bath with no warning. It hits you and you have no choice but to feel it as every vein in your body lights up, New Year's fireworks wreaking havoc on your nervous system. It takes a full minute for you to realize you are alive and stuck in some everlasting hellscape where your body is rejecting you.

Hands are on your shoulders, pressing you back into something soft. You blink furiously and realize it's the Soldier, brow pinched and mouth twisted.

_"Stay down, stay down, your body isn't-"_

"Dietrich-" You gasp for air, panic rising from the pit of your stomach as you look around, trying to figure out where you are.

The Soldier- James, this is the James you knew, the one who cared for you and tended to your wounds. The one who told you snippets of memories he had of a small blond boy, his best friend. The one who cried into your shirt before being strapped down and wiped. Now, he places his metal hand on your chest, just under your neck, and pushed you down. You're too weak to fight the whirring of his arm, so you're forced to lay and watch as three women in lab coats rush toward you. Fleetingly, it reminds you of being a child and being turned into the weapon you are now, watching them stick a large needle in your arm and forcing a cloudy liquid deeper inside you.

Slowly, the world fades out again.

When you wake again, you have no idea how long it's been. All you know is that you hurt. Your body aches all over and your limbs are heavy. It could have been days or weeks later and you would be none the wiser. Suddenly there's a hand brushing hair out of your face and slowly, you blink your eyes open.

Steve is there, folded up in his chair as if he's not one of the tallest and most broad men you've ever met. He's focused on you, on your appearance, perhaps. You open your mouth to speak but all that escapes is a whimper.

God, everything hurt.

He startles slightly and quickly rights himself, picking up a cup and using his arm to haul you up enough so you can drink without spilling it all over yourself. When you're done, he lays you back down and sighs heavily. He seems to do that a lot. Does heavy breathing come with the territory of being super?

"Cho- your doctor- damn near lost her mind when she read your scans. She has no fuckin' clue what was in that dart, but you've been out for three days. Whatever it was caused a full system shut-down." He won't look at you. Memory tells you that it's because he cares.

When you finally speak, your voice is scratchy and unused, "I rejected his plan, he has no use for me now. He can create a new weapon." You're barely awake but the panic that shoots through you is electric, "Sam? Did they find him?"

Steve drops his head, hand running over his face. "No, they haven't found him yet. They're looking everywhere."

If Dietrich has Sam, there's a good chance he's going to try to create a new weapon with him. Out of all the places he could take him, all the Hydra bases you know about... Then again, maybe it's not a base at all.

"I know where he is."

~

"Absolutely not." And variations are answers you get from Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Doctor Cho.

"There's no way you're going anywhere, let alone on a mission. Spangles and the Manchurian Candidate can handle it." Tony drops a file onto his desk and seems to be done with you, so you resign yourself and walk away.

You don't get far before a hand is wrapped around your wrist and yanks you into a room, where you're met with a familiar set of steel-blue eyes.

James is frowning deeply, and while that is generally how he looks in your presence, it feels different this time. Slowly, he lets out a breath and nods, "Let's go. You need a jet? What else?"

This is not what you were expecting. Of all people, you were positive that James Barnes would be the first to throw you in a prison cell and throw away the key. He, better than anyone, knew how much of a flight risk you were.

It renders you speechless. "I... Wha- What?"

Just when you thought he couldn't frown any harder, he does. He rolls his eyes and ducks his head, taking a sharp breath in through his nose, "Look, I don't like you. I fucking hate you for what you did to me. But you're trying, I can tell. I know better than anyone that right now, that's all you can do. It... It's not easy, turning your whole fuckin' life around after Hydra gets you. So... Tell me what you need, I'll get it. We'll go get Sam."

All you can do is stare at him. When he starts to move away, you throw yourself at him. Arms go around his neck, face tucked into his shoulder, he is the only safe space you ever knew. He lets it happen for just a moment, he wraps his arms around your waist and grumbles some indistinct Russian into your hair, and then pushes you away.

"I still don't like you, but you're... You're the Soldier's sister. I can't forget that."

~

Three hours later, you're standing in front of a weapons locker with James and Steve. It's the most beautiful locker you've ever seen, filled to the brim with explosives, daggers, guns-- if it hurts someone, it's here. It's an assassin's wet dream and you might be drooling a bit, honestly.

You're brought out of your fantasies when Steve grunts, packing small grenades into his belt, "This is a bad idea."

"Steve, did you not almost start World War III when you wanted to save me and Tony told you no?" Bucky fires back, easily sliding several blades into his vest.

His comment shuts Steve up, for the most part, small grumbles leaving him about how you aren't healthy enough and how you shouldn't be risking it. All his grumbling, but when you set the jet on autopilot and Steve leaves Bucky to do some calibrating, he finds his way to you.

He speaks so low even you can barely hear it, "I wanted to say thank you... for all of this. For trying to save me. I don't know why your brother hates that I killed your father, or why he wants to carry on his legacy, but thank you. You're a good person."

In return, you cup his cheek and smile sadly, "I'm not, but thank you regardless. Truth be told, I wanted you dead too, for a long time. You did the right thing by killing our father, it just... It took me a long time to realize it. He was a bad man, and in the long run, I think you ended up saving my life."

Something shines in his eyes, but before you can even try to figure out what it is, he takes your wrist in his hand and presses his lips against your pulse.

It sends electricity through you, watching him kiss the inside of your wrist. Never in all your years has something as simple as a press of the lips made you feel this warm inside. He squeezes your hand in his and then lets it drop-- a simple action, the whole ordeal was less than a minute, but it leaves your head spinning.

And you have five more hours on a plane with him.


	5. Chapter 5

A feeling similar to dread settles in your stomach as Friday announces that the jet will be landing in Geneva, Switzerland in roughly five minutes. Are you sure you're ready for this? As soon as Steve's attention is elsewhere, James is crowding your space and frowning deeply. You know what's coming, he knows your past, your history with this place. 

Fully expecting him to ask if you'll be okay, his words are a jab to the ribs, "Are you going to fuck this up?" The breath leaves your body and you square your shoulders, shoving him out of your way and moving to the wall of ammo, making sure you have plenty for all the guns strapped to your body.

The question bounces around your head as you finish putting all your gear on, folding up your signature item and putting it in your pocket for now. When you step off the jet, you've made your decision 

Dietrich Schmidt will be dead by the time you step on this plane again. 

~

You walk for what feels like hours but when you look up, the sun has barely moved from its place in the sky. Just under an hour has passed. You're close. 

"We need a plan," Steve states, moving to stand at your side.

Snorting softly, you look him in the eyes, "I have a plan. Kill him."

His brow pinches and his mouth opens slightly, but James cuts in before he has a chance. "Steve, let it happen. She... She needs to do this." 

_Oh, so now he cares?_

Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep breath. The air is so pure it almost hurts your lungs, it burns your nose as you breathe in and makes your eyes water as you exhale. This is where your mother was when she was taken. You don't know why she was there, in Switzerland. In fact, you don't really know anything about her other than the fleeting memories you have of her from when you were a child. Arms wrapped around you, lips pressed into your hair, the whisper of a laugh, the pain in her voice when she told you she loved you. 

The memories hurt. For so long you've tried to keep them locked in the deepest parts of your brain, burying them in the memories of abuse and neglect. Any pain was more endurable than that of losing your mother. 

Turning to them, you pull the piece of cloth from your pocket. "I need you both to do me a favor."

They say nothing but give you their undivided attention, waiting for you to continue.

"My brother has to die. It is not optional. If... If he manages to get me down, don't save me. Don't come back for me. Finish the job and go home." You pause and take a short breath, looking back up and meeting Steve's eye. "As long as you're safe and my brother is dead, my job is done. It doesn't matter what happens to me."

You can see a flash in his eye, a moment of recognition, and then his face is hard. "No. You're not dying. We aren't leaving you here. Your brother can die, I'll give you that, but I'll be damned if you leave me this soon."

He starts walking without giving you time to even process. James, for what it's worth, gives your shoulder a squeeze before following in Steve's direction. You sigh softly and unfold the garment in your hands, sliding it over your head and adjusting the muzzle so it rests in its proper place. 

You were forced, once upon a time, to wear the flimsy material while on missions for Hydra, and after you left it was the one thing you kept. You changed your name, your hair, your accent, when colored contacts were invented you bought them in every color-- anything to change who you were. Yet, you couldn't deny that the muzzle was great at keeping your identity a secret, and it reminded you of the one friend you ever had. You had no choice but to keep it. Taking a filtered breath, you shake out your hands and let yourself slip into what little calm you have in you. 

The peace before the storm.

~

The mansion, for all intents and purposes, is still in good condition. It looks almost the same as the last time you saw it, back in 1956. On the anniversary of your mother's death, a few months after you escaped Hydra, you visited the house. You didn't go inside, but you watched the house itself for days. Part of you hoped that they lied to you about your mother killing herself, that maybe she would waltz out of that damn house and hug you tight. She didn't.

You're forced to stop again not ten minutes later when James grabs your arm and pulls you back a good two feet. After wrenching your hand free and glaring at him, you adjust your vest and look between them. 

"We can't just go in there guns blazing, we need an actual plan."

You sigh, the noise muffled by the muzzle. A moment passes, you fight yourself before nodding once and looking at Steve, "He's your friend, you save him, I'll watch out for my brother?"

"That... Works." He says slowly, almost like it pains him to agree. He opens his mouth to say more but a commotion up ahead brings you all out of your trance, and suddenly three sets of eyes are presented with a man being dragged by two obvious Hydra agents.

"Sam!" Steve shouts, taking off for his friend.

You watch carefully as the two men drop Sam at the end of the pathway to the mansion's door and flee back inside. Without hesitation, you follow, knowing Steve and James won't be able to stop you from doing what needs to be done. 

The next events unfold too fast for your brain to process; a grunt followed by a fully grown man flinging himself at you, by the time he's on the floor another is coming, and they keep coming until you're out of breath and even worse, out of knives to fend them off with. Carefully, you pluck a dagger from a man's side and wipe it off on your pants, which proves to be a mistake.

A pop sounds and a searing pain rips through your shoulder, making you cry out in agony. It does little else, the bullet stays lodged in your muscle as you lock eyes on the one who shot you, makes an uncomfortable home inside your skin as you gear up and launch yourself towards him, 105 years of emotional, physical and psychological abuse all rushing to the surface in one bloodcurdling scream.

You throw yourself at Dietrich, when he falls you climb on top of him, not a care in the world for the way he thrashes and tries to aim his gun at you. It snaps in half when you grab it, breaks a window when you throw it away from your mixed forms on the ground. Blood seeps from your wound as you claw at him, in the back of your mind you hear yourself shouting in a language you grew up speaking. Every moment of torment you've ever suffered is playing through your mind as you scream at him, hitting his chest and face with all the force you can muster.

And then, it stops.

Your hands drop, your head hangs low, the memories are done. You're done. The anger sits inside of you, the once tight ball of pain is now loose, dissipating, no longer worth anything. After all your pain, all your suffering, you're just. Tired.

A noise comes from your left and you lift your head slightly, the glint of the dagger catches your eye and Oh, you must have dropped it when... To look at your brother's face now, you can't say for certain that it's your brother. He's covered in blood and bruised all over, broken in several places, but he's not dead. Carefully, you lift the dagger, minding the busted knuckles and broken nails on your hands. You rest the tip against his throat but give no pressure, letting the weight of it press against his skin. Unable to name it, something stops you.

A gentle footstep to your left makes you look up, when you have to blink tears away you realize you've been crying.

"I can't do it." Your voice is awful, hoarse and scratchy from the screaming you've done.

Steve, with all the gold in his heart, kneels next to you and pushes your hair out of your face. It had been tied back, why is it so messy? It hurts when he sweeps his thumb across your cheek, you must have a cut. "That's okay, bumblebee. You're okay now. He's done, yeah?"

"I need to kill him, Steve, I-" You start to get worked up again, breaths coming hard and uneven.

He quells you with a hand on your back, free hand coming and taking the dagger away. "He doesn't have to die, not today. Let him go through the system, I'll make sure he ends up in a max prison."

Something in the way he looks at you... You fall into him, your whole body slipping and landing right in his arms. He wraps you up, pets at your hair, and presses on his earpiece.

"Buck, set up a bed for her. Call in and tell them to prep med..."

His voice fades out as you focus on the rhythm of his breathing. Up and down, up and down, heart is steady and fast, he's warm, even through his uniform. Why are supersoldiers so hot? Why is Steve so good? This sticky feeling in your chest, thinking about Steve all the time, the way his lips pressed to your wrist, the way his hand felt on your hip at the gala... Do you like Steve Rogers?

You don't have time to ponder it when Steve moves you and a sharp pain shoots through you. You must cry out if the way he shushes you and apologizes means anything. The world is fuzzy, fading fast, and unlike last time, you watch him knowing full well that this might be the last time you get to look at him. He is beautiful.


	6. Chapter 6

According to James- Bucky, he's told you to call him Bucky, but it sounds wrong coming from your mouth- when you got back to the tower, it was like walking into a ring of fire. Guards were waiting, for Dietrich or you, he wasn't sure. 

The story Tony wants to believe is that despite what he told you, you stole a jet and went off to do as you pleased. Steve has apparently been trying to convince him that it was Bucky, but ever since you came along and Tony has someone new to blame, he doesn't want to hear a word about the former Winter Soldier.

You, according to Dr. Cho, passed out before you made it to the jet and were still unconscious when you touched down in New York. For a solid day you slept, your wounds were treated and thanks to the research done with the last time you were in the med bay, any and all wounds, pause for your shoulder, were mostly healed. The shoulder was tricky. The bullet shattered when it entered and broke a lot of tiny bones, as... Bucky... put it. 

"Too many science words, your shit was fucked, gonna take a while to heal right." He'd said, smacking a sandwich down in front of you as soon as he heard you were awake and well enough to eat real food.

The thought now makes you laugh, the way Dr. Cho squawked about no food in the labs, until, of course, her own sandwich was produced and she promptly left you both alone. 

On the second day of being stuck in the med bay, Sam came to visit. The second you saw him, you threw a spoon at Bucky and grunted, _"Do you have any normal-sized friends or are they all...?"_ When you faded out, you flexed your un-injured arm to mimic being buff and Bucky laughed softly.

_"In my defense, Steve didn't start that way."_ He waggles the spoon at you and sets it back on your tray before walking out, letting you and Sam talk.

"So... No offense, but your brother... is an asshole."

It has to be the way he says it, one eyebrow raised as if he's trying to solve life's biggest issues, head tilted to the side, mystified look on his face-- you can't help but laugh. 

"Yeah, you're not wrong about that. I promise we aren't all like that. Anymore. Sadly I started out that way." You nod and sit up more in your bed. Sam is stuck in a wheelchair for now but you've heard good things about his recovery, and for the first time in your very long life, you don't care that he'd be easy to defeat if need be. 

"Steve told me what happened, with him... I'm proud of you. He's not worth it, you know? That chapter of your life is over. You can heal now." His words are soft and firm, tentative hand on your wrist as he holds your gaze.

Heal. Yeah. You can do that. 

"Maybe you're right... I'd like to be..."

"Safe?"

All you can do is nod. Safe. It's new, and it feels... good.

~

Four days after saving Sam, Steve still hasn't come to see you, so you do the only logical thing. You go to him. You find him, funny enough, in your room. The room with God awful purple walls, a backpack of your things, and Steve Rogers sitting on your bed.

You don't bother knocking or making yourself know, you know he heard you coming. If he didn't want to see you, he wouldn't be here. He looks... Bad. He hasn't shaved since the day before the mission and he's got a nice beard coming in, it'll look better when it's longer but for now, it fits him. He's tired, you can tell. Maybe he's been as tired as you for just as long.

You sit next to him, arm wrapped in a sling, for God knows how long. He breaks the silence by handing you a small piece of cardstock with different colors on it.

"Buck told me you hate purple, I thought you could pick a color and... I don't know."

Oh. It's more than cardstock. It's an invitation, a welcome mat, a friend. An opportunity. 

"When I saw you on top of Dietrich... I thought you'd killed him. There was no way you could unleash all of that anger and not kill someone. But then you just- You stopped. Just like that, you were done. For... the first time in a long time... I was scared. Of you, I mean. That much... rage... pent up? You were a walking bomb and none of us knew it. But you wanna know something?" He turns his head to you now, holding your gaze.

You tilt your head up, giving no further acknowledgment of his words.

"You were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." He looks down as soon as he says it, not having the will to see your reaction. "You were the embodiment of rage, revenge, justice... You were- are... magnificent." 

There are no words to respond with, so you sit and say nothing. He shakes his head, sighing deeply. He starts twitching, muscles moving like he's going to stand, and before he can fully leave, before this moment is over, you make a decision.

"I like yellow. I want the walls to be yellow. Like sunflower yellow. I saw this field once, in New Mexico, there were thousands of flowers... I didn't know there could be so many beautiful things in one place. It was after I left Hydra, sometime in the 80s I think? I don't know, it all blurs together but... Yellow. I've never painted a room before, will you help me?"

Steve smiles softly, nods slowly, and looks at you. "Sunflowers. They suit you."

It must be the way he looks at you that makes you do it. 

Without thinking about the consequences or risks, you lean over and kiss him. It's nothing more than a gentle press of the lips, no more than the kiss he planted on your wrist, but it takes root, plants itself inside your heart and begins to grow.

~

You decide that you need to have a real conversation with Bucky. James. What the fuck ever. You track him down to the gym, trading punches with a kid- the same kid from the beginning of all this, who follows Tony around like he's God. 

The boy, Peter, stops as soon as you walk in and takes a nasty swing to the jaw. Bucky panics and whips around, deflating when he spots you. "You made me deck a kid!" He all but cries out, turning back to Peter and apologizing. Peter looks like he just got the fear of God knocked into him and scrambles before you can say hello.

Nice to know you still have a reputation.

Jam- Bucky? Bucky. Bucky takes a breath and goes to his gym bag, pulling off his sweat-soaked shirt and replacing it with a tank top. The scars of his arm are on display and your stomach churns at the memories of bones being sawed into.

"Can we talk?" You ask softly. That feeling is back, anxiety or whatever. You hate it. It's rotten and pollutes your whole day, leaves you shakey and unsteady.

He doesn't reply but does hand you a roll of tape, holding out his flesh hand to you. You begin wrapping the knuckles and prepare, but he stops you.

"I know about you and Steve."

Your stomach lurches. There's nothing to know. A couple of brief kisses over too-early cups of coffee, him holding you after a nightmare and sleeping on your floor because you panic when you wake to someone in your bed but can't stand to be alone. Shared confessions of anger and spite. 

There's nothing to know

You say as much. He scoffs and swings his metal arm around once, making sure all the gears and wires are in place. "That's a lie." It's a statement. "Look... You're... You're really..."

"I'm fucked up, you can say it."

"You're really, really fucked up. You didn't have a couple years on ice and some cool secret princess fix your brain. You got more trauma than me and Steve put together and that's sayin' something big, doll." You smack his arm, he smacks your hand. "I'm tellin' the truth. You need time. I know how he feels about you, looks at ya like you went and hung the moon. You and me... We got a fucked up history, but after Shuri fixed me up, I see why you did it. I'm pissed as hell, but I can see it. Don't like it, don't wanna get it, but I do. You were a big part of my life for a long time. I still... got some of my own shit to work through, but I'm working on it. You were a sister to me when I had nothing. Least we can do is be friends now, right? 'Specially if you're gonna keep kissin' Steve when he least expects it. Fool blushes for days." 

By the time he's done talking you're simply holding his taped-up hand in both of yours, a dumbstruck look on your face. He takes the roll from you and drops it back in his bag, reminding you of the momento you brought for him.

"I- I have something for you, from- I- Um. Here." You pull something from the pocket of your sweat pants and hand it to him, turning and walking away. 

He doesn't open his hand until you're gone and the door and shut behind you. When he unfolds his metal hand, he finds a metal necklace in it. It's rusty and dirty and there might definitely be blood on it, but he's certainly holding his dog tags.

~

Eventually, Steve convinces you to sit down and talk with Nick Fury. Steve is by your side the whole time, helping you understand exactly what contracts mean. 

The same contracts Bucky signed. You'll be a normal person, you won't have to work for Shield if you don't want to, as long as you submit to some run-of-the-mill tests and go to court-appointed therapy sessions. Saving the life of Captain America doesn't much matter when you've got about a hundred other flags on your file. You sign them after reading each one carefully, and by the end of the meeting, you're a (somewhat) regular person. 

You're officially living in the Avengers' compound, you've got a mini-apartment that locks, a bedroom with yellow walls, and a place to put your growing collection of things. 

You share a floor with Wanda, who was very interested in you but you were very skeptical of her. It took a lot of encouragement from Sam for you to give her a chance, but you did, and she's lovely.

Sam recovers well, he spends most of his time asking you dumb questions about your time on the run and the things you did to fill the time. He doesn't get the answers he wants apparently, because he quickly moves on to quizzing you about pop culture. Only when Steve comes and steals you away does he throw out comments about your past, pouting because "You old folks sure are a reclusive bunch!"

Steve. He is all things to you all the time. He is patient, kind, understanding, and a compass. With this, he is your rock. He pushes you harder than you'd push yourself, and Bucky sometimes has to stop him because, "She's doing good, Steve. She made a lot of progress this week. Let her have a bad day."

And there are most definitely bad days. When Dietrich is sentenced to a good dozen life sentences in a maximum-security prison in the middle of the ocean, you weep. The nightmares come back after that, but Steve is right there to help you through them. You have flashbacks, Steve is there. You spend hours locked away, sorting through broken memories, trying to figure out if what happened was because of you or because of what your father turned you into. There are bad weeks, where you flinch when someone says your name, you find escape routes and pack all your things away, ready to leave. One by one, Steve takes things out and puts them where they belong. Puts you where you belong. He waits through the bad, ever-present, and welcomes the good. He accepts you, all of you. 

It takes almost a year and a half for you to kiss him and not pull away a second later, and when it happens he rejoices in it. You kiss him until you're breathless and then some more because you can. He is a good man and you are allowed to be happy. 

~

You're lying in bed with Steve when the memory visits, a funny little thing that comes from nowhere and tumbles out before you can stop it.

"Do you remember when we met, the Gala we had to go to?"

He rubs his face, "That was what... Three years ago? Four?"

"Four and a half."

"What about it?"

You pull the blanket to cover yourself, turning to prop up on your elbow, "I said that you didn't deserve what my brother was putting you through, and you told me you deserved worse."

He frowns at that, brow pinching in a familiar way and you don't fight the impulse to lean in, kiss it away. He smiles softly and cups your jaw, bumping your nose with his, "What about it?"

"You, Steve Rogers, deserve the world." You tell him, kissing him firmly and planting a hand on his bare chest.

He hums, considers your words, and rolls over on top of you. "You think?"

"I do think."

"I don't want the world." He states. A single brow raises and prompts him to continue, "I just want you."

You pause for a moment and then laugh, deep from your chest and it's a ridiculous noise, one that always makes Steve grin and duck his head. He loves pulling that sound from you. 

"God, you're so dumb..." You lean up and place rapid-fire kisses against his lip, squealing softly when he puts his full weight on you and kisses you deeply.

"Yeah, I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo! it's all up and you made it to the end! thank you so much, I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. This little project has been my pride and joy for close to a year now and I'm amazed that people still like it. anyways, until next time x


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